Camp Havoc
by Ordrossal
Summary: As he disappeared inside, the arcticwhite shutter on the far right abruptly shattered. In spilled vermilion pillows of flames flinging paperthin shards of superheated aluminum in my direction...
1. An Early Summoning

Camp Havoc

By: Ordrossal

**A/N: "I've never written a story in first-person before, so I figured I'd give it a shot." Anyhells, _-here goes nothing… B.T.W: "I OWN NOTHING SO DON'T SUE ME..."_**

Chapter 1

'An Early Summoning'

**Dagon's P.O.V: **A cold rainy day had beset itself upon camp Wiltshire as my squad and I took our routine late-night jog amongst the tangled maze of cement buildings. Barbed wire lined the tops of the endless ambient corridors and rows of .50cal browning machineguns watched us maliciously from atop the confining walls. They waited, like predators, watching us closely, looking to rapidly disfigure the first man to fall out of sync with the rest of us… We were all fully decked out in our uniforms, bulky Kevlar helmets, stylish, black leather combat boots and of course, my personal favorite, the camouflaged buttoned shirt and thick utility pants…

The only thing missing were our weapons. My pistol holsters bobbed silently on ether sides of my upper torso, their emptiness eating at me like a plague of leaches, sucking me dry… It had been six weeks since I arrived by bus on Wiltshire, strait out of California with my buddies Derek, Anthony, and Dustin. I guess you could say we were a rogue bunch of degenerates buckin it up the line, trying desperately to escape the haunting shambles that remained of our insignificant, pathetic lives. All four of us knew of the hardships ahead, but only one of us would be prepared to blankly face them without a fear in the world… As you may have guessed it, that person, is me… Dagon Fel…

"Hey, Dagon. When are they goanna stop runnin us like friggin dogs and give us a gun? It's been six friggin weeks." Derek said from behind me, utilizing the sharp pitter-pattering of the falling rain to mask his voice from the officers at the front of the long line. "Eeea, maybe after they shoot seven more of us for being too weak to run another four miles." I said with a tiered shrug as the commando affront of me, 'Dustin,' turned to speak. "How many miles have we gone anyway? What time is it? Have we slept in the last 57hours?" He asked as Derek and I fell into deep thought.

After a moment of listening to the harmonic pounding of our boots, Derek broke the symphony saying, "eh, who gives a shit, none of us really sleep that much anyway, especially me and Dagon." "Yeah, if I were home right now I'd probably be putting-foot-ta-ass in the middle of Battlefield 1942." I said stumbling a bit, but not loud enough for the Sgt. at the front of the line to notice the break in the synchronized pounding of our boots.

I cursed to my self mentally, mumbling insults to my body and growing distressed for a brief moment. "Dammit Dagon, quit being so hard on yourself, let those goons in the front deal with 'that.'" Derek said as Anthony, who jogged behind Derek, vomited on the toe of his boots. As he stumbled out of the line slightly, one of the troops behind him centered his path of travel, holding his shoulders to stop him from swaying. "Ten bucks says Anthony gets shot next…"

Dustin commented as I purposely shoved the toe of my boot into his heal. "Ten bucks says you don't make it another day without a bad case of diarrhea." I then said, as Dustin put forth his typical response to me being right, and him being wrong. "Screw you Dagon…" I smirked in reply, "I'm strait, but you're welcomed to take some Vaseline to Colonel Griffin when he inspects our bunkers tomorrow." "You're an asshole," he said back, his ears pitching slightly backwards as he likely synched a smile.

"Yeah whatever dude, why are we jogging so long into the day anyway?" I asked shuttering as a cold chill crept up my back. "Friggin Hawkins threatened one of the Lieutenants and now the fuckin staff is debating rather or not we can be trusted with assault weapons." Anthony called from behind Derek, his voice raspy and exasperated as he struggled to grip the slick mud beneath him. "The shit? Why can't they let us rest while they decide?" I asked as I caught a .50cal gunner peering at me from the right fringe of my vision.

"Keep it down, those gunners are a bunch a friggin tweakers, they'll shoot even if they suspect you of talking or falling behind." Derek hissed as I started to feel a sudden onset of manic depression. I felt the erg to cry but I didn't know why. Could it have been, that maybe deep down inside I felt uneasy about this 'boot camp' and wanted to return to my abysmal existence in California???

"Man, I feel like runnin out of line and sittin right in one of their gun-sights…" I murmured feeling a dull pain in my left shoulder. "YOU MOTHERFUCKERS STOP BUNCHING UP!!!" A strangely soothing voice said off to my left. As some of us slowed, putting even spacing between one another, I noticed one of the Lieutenants jogging along side me. _"Lieutenant Sheppard…" _I thought, pretending to look at the endless row of machine gunners as I partook of her beauty out of the bottom fringe of my vision. We were never allowed to look lieutenants in the eyes, EVER! Many of my previous but not closely befriended comrades were shot execution style because of this allure.

I'd like to think that Commander Rodriguez purposely picked beautiful Lieutenants to get the weak-minded men of our group to reveal themselves thereby cutting the observation part of the training in half. Made cents to me… I really didn't care much for being shot and killed by Sheppard, tell the truth, every time she'd come close to me, my head would fill with various thoughts of suicide and I'd get this emotionally crippling pain in my left arm.

I knew her from middle school; fell in love without actually looking at her yet. Since I was quite ugly and unconfident back then, I never went any further than saying Hi to her. I was too afraid of rejection giving my long history of it. Not much has changed presently… After that she moved to Victorville and I never heard from her again; I'd worry about her day and night, afraid she'd hook up with the wrong boyfriend and end horribly from an abusive relationship, and drugs! Goddamn stuff was everywhere, and most teens thought they were 'safe.' Ironically, this woman could presently kick any of our Asses blindfolded and hands tied. Rumor states she went to flight school and was quite the fighter pilot, and giving her surprising accomplishments so far, I wouldn't put it passed her.

Anyway, getting out of my head and into the world; I passively stared at her as I always do, following the individual machineguns as they passed me by to throw off suspicion. Suddenly a masculine voice upfront yelled "Marines!? Back to your bunkers, body-count fifteen, you have ten seconds to assemble an escape plan and get as many of your men to safety!!!" "What!?" Derek protested as everyone slowed to a walking pace and glared at the restless overhead machine gunners while murmuring ideas to one another.

"There are only twenty of us left!" Dustin cried in a raspy voice, clenching his brown, strait, hair as he doodled around in crooked circles. "Dagon, Dustin?" Derek and Anthony hissed as we ran over and squatted in the slick mud beside them. "Vehicle hangar's just 100yards ahead, we each steal a vehicle and grab up as many troops as we can, then we bring this place to the ground and escape!" Derek said as we each nodded and awaited the first shot…


	2. Vultures

**Chapter 2**

"**Vultures"**

As we waited, I accidentally met eyes with lieutenant Sheppard; she started to go for her .50cal Desert Eagle but looked off of me at the ground. I'd like to think she had a liking towards me, but I know it was only because my comrades and I were goanna die imminently… Without warning the commander shot off his pistol in the distance, Derek, Dustin, Anthony and myself broke off in the same direction, trying to strafe as the sharp pitter-pattering of falling rain, dispersed and in its place remaining a reverberating clatter of machinegun fire.

My knees quivered in motion, causing me to stammer every few seconds as glowing white tracers impacted on the mud beneath me. The Hangers up ahead were like a haven, their towering stadium-style floodlights whispering in my favor. When I looked to my left I noticed Anthony was clenching his right shoulder while in a full sprint.

Derek was nearly masked from site as hundreds of bullet holes erupted on the walls to our left, filling the cement corridor with white smoke or ash. As I looked forward at the now slowly fading floodlights, starting to hyperventilate as I struggled to inhale the now thickened air into my lungs, I spotted several humanoid figures in the smokescreen. "Guards! We got guards!" I clamored in a raspy voice, as we staggered to a halt and made a left into a poorly lit corridor.

The muzzle flares from the blaring overhead .50caliber machineguns lit the way as the shaded figure of a large vehicle staggered around the bend up ahead. _"Get down it's a tank!!!" _Derek shrieked as we all hit the mud and rolled to ether corners of the alley. We were trapped… I could hear Derek's short gasps for air as he lay beside me, clenching handfuls of mud to distract himself from his mortal wound. By now the overhead machineguns had stopped firing, and the reverberating inhuman growling of a Chieftain Mk5 battletank haunted us from the darkness up ahead.

"Derek, you need to stop moving! It can't engage us if we look dead!" I called as an array of glowing tracers passed over our heads. _"Hold your fire we're cadre!!!" _A masculine voice clamored from close behind me, followed by a series of dull, fleshy, thuds. I turned around just in time to find a guard crumpling to the ground as several fleshy holes erupted on his upper torso. _"Dude what the fuck???" _Anthony said from my far left, starting to get up but falling to his stomach as an iridescent-white cloud erupted from the tank's direction.

The glowing person-sized tracer released from the explosion passed closely above my body, sending a painful shudder down my spine and through the tips of my toes. When I looked behind us at the junction we'd just ascended from it was shrouded in a dense, iridescent-gray smokescreen. In the foreground one of my less-befriended bunker-buddies dragged himself in our direction. "We've gotta help him, Anthony? Grab some grenades off that dead cadre and give that tank some trouble! Dustin? Help Derek to his feet and get him to the vehicle hangars, we'll meet up with you later!" I said getting up and sprinting towards the fallen trooper trainee.

**Anthony's P.O.V: **I had nearly dozed off as Dagon was shouting orders. It took another dull burst from the enemy tank's maingun to snap me outta the daze. _Just don't ask what I was thinkin about… _I scrambled to my feet, following Dagon and then stammering over to a disfigured corpse, dropping to a kneeling position as I undid a grenade-belt fastened to the bottom half of a dead guard or cadre. I could feel the person's leg twitching as the sharp droplets of cold rain pounded the cushy surface of the corpse's large intestines. Suddenly, my vision fell blurry and my hearing impaired as a glowing person sized tracer grazed my body, sending me backwards into the side of the cafeteria building.

I looked over to see the constantly shimmering image of the intimidating tracked vehicle, charging in Dagon's direction with its 7.62x39mm co-axial machinegun blaring. Wearily I stood to my feet, searching for the pins on the bundle of grenades I carried without actually looking at the objects. When I finally looked down, taking note that the clattering of the tank's track treads had ceased; I realized that I was holding 40mm rocket-assisted grenades for an M203/M79. "No pins! No launcher!" I said looking up to find the pitch-black muzzle of a Chieftain Mk5, sitting six inches from my face.

I won't lie to you, I was scared stiff, the reverberating rumble of its multi-fuel diesel engine didn't help ether; especially after my case of shellshock wore off. I could hear its arrogant crew chattering from within the hull of the rounded turret. I had to think quickly before the loader slid another smoothbore into that breach. Getting out of the way? Sure. I thought about it… But the wall being nearly two feet behind me would prove to be a wonderful opportunity for the back blast from the explosive shell to kill me anyway! –The latching brackets of the breach door echoed from down the dark, swamp-green, funnel-, thinking time was up, and now I had to act…

Grasping the 40mm grenade shells tightly in my right hand, I let out a war cry, flinging the belt of explosives down the long muzzle and sprinting for the bend up ahead. My heart throbbed as I listened to the wailing of the vehicle's hydraulic engine pivoting the turret to aim at me. As I ran, ignorant of the wound in my shoulder from a .50cal machinegun, I continued to holler, later covering my ears and curling up on the floor as an explosion went off behind me.

The blast sent a sharp tremor into the ground, causing the cement walls around me to ripple as its shockwave passed through the alley. When I uncovered my ears and stood upright, I turned to find a huge section of the alley blown out. A huge depression in the ground remained where the Chieftain Mk5 once sat, the rain waters quickly flooding it with their shimmering essence as I started towards it overjoyed. "Yeah!!! Fuck yeah, take that motherfuckers!!!" I clamored, leaping into the air but then crumpling to the ground in pain as the bullet in my shoulder shifted. _"Awe, fuckin carrot top!" _ I hissed, starting into the ghostly, white, smokescreen that abruptly beset itself atop the depression in the middle of the alley.


	3. Grand Theft Auto

**Chapter 3**

"**Grand Theft Auto" **

**Dustin's P.O.V: **Derek and I stared back in the direction of a twinning trail of black smoke rising from behind the cafeteria building. The machine gunners atop the alley walls had pinned us in a junction between the classroom and the physical training complex. We currently hid in a blind spot between two nameless cement buildings. As Derek and I peered around the corner, in hope of Anthony or Dagon's arrival, a metallic object landed in the mud behind us, rolling to a stop at the heal of my boot. A cold chill crept up and down my back as a slowly turned to face it.

"_It's a grenade you dumbass, toss it back up, like 'this' see?" _Derek said in his usual sarcastic tone as he tossed the green explosive over the top of the building on our left. We covered our ears and took up lower stances as the ground jolted and a barrage of cement rocks and ash tumbled into the junction affront of us. When the obstructing smoke cleared, several large cement blocks remained, entangled in dark red entrails.

I stared at Derek in awe of his accomplishment, despite his torso wounds. Then I turned to stare at the flesh-ensnared rocks, gazing at them as steam rose from the cooling intestines. I closed my eyes and slowly inhaled the sour, metallic scent of blood, thinking to myself, _"This! Is the smell of 'SAFE.'" _Snapping out of the gaze, I felt Derek tug me in the direction of the hangars, "comon you inbreed, let's stop dickin around and get us some wheels!" He said irritably as I followed.

By now the facility was for the most part quiet. I anticipated all of our bunker buddies were dead, and HAZMAT crews were probably out searching for 'our' dead bodies. Otherwise, the overhead .50caliber M2 Browning machineguns would be manned. "Maybe some of the guys got to the bunkers safely?" I said, adjusting Derek's position on my right shoulder. "I don't care, I've had enough of this death-camp anyway. -We steal some fuel, ammo, and some food, then make for the Mexican boarder and continue into South America."

Derek said as the rain shrouded our voices in a hissing monotone. "They do this 'hide-and-go-shoot' shit every week! Aren't we supposed to be fighting Alcada insurgents?" I asked, as the fine details of the vehicle hangar grew vivid and welcoming. "No, shit. The Iraqi soldiers'll probably treat us better than our own country. That goes double for Dagon since he friggin looks like one." Derek said as we came to a halt at the side entrance.

I gently leaned Derek against the arctic-silver shutter to our right and started at the lock on the door. Digging through the side-pouches in my uniform, I fumbled with my homemade lock-pick. It was just as good as any similar device you could get off the government. I'd made it at home with my dad, he use to work for 'Mosquito Molds' they made everything from statues, to props for movies, or airsoft accessories, anything that could be made out of metal, they produced it.

Pulling the lock pick from my back pocket, I gazed at its luminous textures, remembering my dad, -or at least what he was like when he wasn't drunk, or in jail. My mom died when I was about 2 or 3yrs old, I hardly knew her, died from cancer… See, I came from a family of degenerate, law-breaking bastards; they did everything from selling drugs, sex or weapons, to committing assault and battery, and robbing liquor stores. I was sinking in a hole, if I hadn't left California I would have been in a gang, or selling drugs and wrecking families for a goddamn percentage. My father figure had always been Dagon. I knew he himself was a degenerate screw-up, but he was a good person, and he had so much talent! He was eugenic, inventive, funny, understanding, -he couldn't get a girlfriend for 500k but if they'd given him a chance I'd bet he would of been a better husband than any of those arrogant 'pretty-boys' out there.

Snapping out of my brief daze, I began working on the door with my pick, shuddering as a crack of thunder pierced the hissing, rainy, crescendo like a bullwhip. The blue flash from the lightning made me nervous as I continued to work. Derek grew quiet and hugged his knees to his chest when a glanced over at him. "Hey, you guys still tryin ta get into the hangar?" Came Dagon's exasperated voice. I gave him a simple nod, keeping prone to my work. Anthony peered over my right shoulder suddenly pulling on my uniform. "Dude what the hell? I'm tryin ta get this thing open." I said in a heightened voice as the hissing of the rain continued. Suddenly Anthony gave my uniform one more hard tug. By then I'd had enough. Standing up with my chest held high, I confronted him, falling to a resting stand as Anthony brandished a key-ring in his right hand.

"I'm goanna pick the keycard reader so we can get the main shutter open…" He said with a satisfying synch of a smile. "Awe sorry man, just stressed out…" I sighed, going back to work on the complex lock. Suddenly the lock let out a sharp click, nearly unrecognizable over the hissing of the falling rain. "Got it! Lets go." I said joyfully, getting butterflies in my stomach as I hefted Derek on my right shoulder and helped him in the door. Suddenly, Dagon shoved passed me, drawing up a cast-iron pipe and swinging into a surveillance camera on my high right, I hadn't noticed it because Derek's butt blocked my right fringe. The unit's plastic and glass parts echoed about the vast indoor parking lot like a coin dispenser, its broken wire spewing sparks as I passed under it to set Derek down. As I stared enviously at the endless line of military vehicles, I was startled to the point of shrieking as the huge arctic silver shutter behind me to the left, rattled to life.

I turned still overtaken by a brief onset of adrenaline, to find Dagon and Anthony rolling under the increasingly open shutter. Jumping to an upright position, Anthony quickly ran over to a keycard reader on the opposite side of the huge doorway and frantically prodded at it with the key ring. After ten seconds, the shutter closed, Dagon had already shut the door I came through earlier.

**Derek's P.O.V: **I had just about fallen asleep by the time Anthony and Dagon got their shit together. "Hey guys? I need a drink!" I moaned as nausea beset my body and my vision grew splotchy. Alcoholism ran in my family, I'd like to say I was the worst of them but-, 'I can hold my liquor…' I hugged my knees and pushed myself tiredly to a standing position, using the wall as my crutch. I peered about the room searching for a vehicle of taste as my comrades stayed silent. "I get dibs on the T-90 Battletank in the second row!" Dagon called starting up the drows of vehicles. I synched a smile at Dustin and shook my head as he ran his gloved hands on the polished hood of a Swamp Buggy with a .50cal machinegun mounted on its rear chassis.

I looked around for Anthony, but only found a trail of blood droplets leading to an open door some ways up the platform surrounding the hangar area. When I started to approach the rusted unit, all curiosity passed, and a gloved arm held out a 30 oz of Jack Daniels. "This should make you feel better!" Anthony said emerging with the bottle of 'relief' and a Berretta 92F in his hands. "Found an armory, but the assault weapons are locked away in a thick vault." He said handing me the heavy bottle. I partook of the sparkling substance as a gas turbine struggled to start up at the far end of the hangar. "Can't you just pick the keycard reader like you did with the shutter?" I asked belching as the liquor settled in my stomach.

"Can't find one, I think it's controlled from the surveillance office upstairs." Anthony replied peering into the armory's doorway. I stood up wearily, and stammered over to him, peering inside the white room and spotting a black window on the upper wall to my right. "I think it's manned…" Anthony mumbled, turning in response to a metallic chasm at the other end of the hangar. We paused in both fear and curiosity. _Had a cadre or guard snuck into the hangar without our knowledge? Had they commandeered a tank?" _ Our curiosity dissipated like a horde of scampering roaches as a swamp-camo T-90 battletank staggered out from behind a row of Humvees.

Its turret seemed to train on us inattentively as it crept forward. "Hey Dagon!?" I called in a strangled voice, as my lungs gradually filled with blood. _"Blow the armory door!" _Anthony's voice came to me in dithered blurs. The T-90's metallic chasms irritated me as the vehicle crept closer. "Comon let's get clear of the back-blast." Anthony hissed as the tank's turret fine-tuned itself to face the armory vault. A violent explosion shifts the ground abruptly. Several overhead lamps detach from the scaffolding, hitting the cement with a metallic crash. I turned to find pillows of flames spilling out of the armory as Anthony barely staggered to safety. Now in a lying prone, Anthony and I waited for the rumbling to stop.

With all silent, I looked up from my crumpled position, at the T-90. Its ridiculously long smoothbore 120mm was smoking; Dagon's head was sticking out of the cupola atop the low-profile turret as he attentively squinted at the smoke-filled corridor. When the smoke cleared minutes later, a frown formed across Dagon's soiled face as he called, "Maybe I should try a SABOT shell. The last one was HE-Fragmentation!"

**Dagon's P.O.V: **I squinted at the now chipped-up metal vault on the far side of the hangar. I hadn't actually operated a T-90 before but I was familiar with the M1A2 Abram. Closing the heavy hatch over my head, I scrambled back into my chair, which was situated just under the manlet (turret face-plate) and read the control panel before me. I then noticed as my hand rested near the LCD screen affront of me, a mouse cursor twitching in its place. "Wow, an interactive screen display?" I said aloud, selecting the SABOT icon on the bottom left corner and waiting patiently as the auto-loading mechanism in the turret changed ammunition types.

When the jerking and hissing above me ceased, I grape the joystick firmly and pulled the trigger. I felt myself smiling as the vault-door twisted from its hinges and collided with the far-wall. Anthony and Derek hopped up and down as they cheered my accomplishment. I shut the engine and electrical equipment off before climbing out of the forward, lower hatch.

**Derek's P.O.V: **I snickered under my breath as Dagon tumbled off the forward chassis of the tank. Anthony had already gone inside; I personally preferred not to walk so much. My flooded lungs pressed furiously on my stomach, promoting an onset of nausea. _Now I know how my mom felt when she bore me in her womb. _"Derek? Get your ass in here and pick a gun! We gotta skip this joint before the guards get here!" Anthony's voice echoed as Dagon climbed up the railing of the platform. As he disappeared inside, the arctic-white shutter on the far right abruptly shattered. In spilled vermilion pillows of flames; flinging paper-thin shards of super-heated aluminum in my direction.

When the metallic shards settled to the ground like twirling quarters, cadre, guards, and even HAZMAT crews spilled into the entrance armed with OICW assault rifles. "Fuck my lungs I'm gone!" I said aloud, staggering into the armory and crumpling to a sitting position at the far-wall. "What the hell's goin on?" Dagon asked strapping a metallic black and silver Ak-47 to his back and starting to tape 30round magazines together in groups of two. "It's those friggin guards! They heard the explosion dude!" Anthony called, sorting through a disorganized pile of chain-belted ammunition. "Hey, where the fuck's Dustin???" I asked as Dagon drew up an M-60 light-machinegun and fired a few jittery bursts around the corner of the doorway.

**Dustin's P.O.V: **I was scared out of my tinkering of the Swamp-Buggy's 8cylinder engine as clatters of gunfire reverberated at the far-end of the hangar. I took refuge under a chipped-up Humvee as several tracers passed through my new buggy's roll-cage. As I squinted through the ambient lighting, leather combat boots swiftly made their way in my direction. _"Shit"_ I hissed scrambling to the next Humvee and rolling over its roof and into the .50cal cupola. _"Got tell me they didn't just see me…" _I thought as a masculine voice next to me whispered, _"They didn't just see me…" _Surprised, I turned to find a faint, white figure sitting at the far-end of the truck bed. _"Rocky, you're alive???" _


End file.
